


The Ajam

by elaine



Series: Five Ways Jim and Blair Never Met in Past Lives [3]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Alternate Universes, Drama, First Times, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-19
Updated: 2006-02-19
Packaged: 2017-12-11 10:14:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/797236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elaine/pseuds/elaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Jewish overseer and a Christian slave meet in Al-Andalus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ajam

**Author's Note:**

> i got the idea for this story while reading a history of Islam. it is set in Spain under Muslim occupation, in the late 11th century. there are more notes at the end of the story for those who are interested.

 

It wasn't often that a naked body was washed ashore, so the boy who came running to tell Ya'akov was breathless with excitement. The fishermen had found him when they went down to their boats and it was still early - morning prayers had barely finished. Ya'akov grinned in sympathy with the child's rather ghoulish enthusiasm and followed the scampering figure down the narrow path to the beach.

It wasn't a body after all. While the boy had been busy fetching him, someone had thought to turn the body over, at which point a faint groan indicated signs of life. "Never mind," Ya'akov advised the crestfallen boy. "Perhaps the next time."

He knelt beside the sprawled body. The uncircumcised cock left no doubt that this man was an ajam - a foreigner - and a particularly fine looking one at that. Ignore the scruffy beard and tangled, sun bleached mane, beneath was a strong, handsome face, if rather gaunt. The ajam's hands were heavily calloused with broken filthy nails.

Ya'akov lifted the left arm and, as he'd expected, found a ridged brand high on the man's ribs - a slave, almost certainly a galley slave, judging by the lash marks curving across his ribs from the back. His master would indeed be interested in this - provided the man survived. "Fetch a litter and take him up to the house. Put him in the infirmary."

At his words the man's eyes flew open. Blue eyes, the colour of the sky above their heads. The man blinked vaguely and his eyes closed again. Ya'akov smiled, sure that this stubborn ajam would live.

It was several hours before a servant came to tell him that the ajam was awake again. Ya'akov put aside his book of poetry and, with a certain feeling of anticipation, walked hurriedly to the infirmary. His master, Rafiq al-Harbi, frequently told him he was as curious as a cat, and even more inclined to trouble, and he accepted the truth of it. He could not wait to talk to this man.

The ajam was propped up on several pillows, and covered only with a light rug, since it was the hottest part of the day. He'd been washed, shaved and his tangled mane of hair had been cropped close to his head - and, as a result, he looked quite startlingly handsome. As Ya'akov seated himself beside his pallet, Ali handed the ajam a cup of water, but his hands shook badly, spilling the water. Without thinking, Ya'akov put his hand over the other man's to steady it.

Their eyes met, both curious, and then drifted apart. Ya'akov focused on helping the stranger to lift the cup to his lips and when he had done drinking, put it on the floor beside them.

"What is your name? Mine is Ya'akov." He spoke slowly in Arabic, certain that a galley slave would know at least a few words. If he knew no more than that, well, Ya'akov spoke several languages. They would manage somehow.

"James. My name is James." He drew breath to speak again and coughed dryly.

When he made no attempt to continue, Ya'akov smiled encouragingly and offered him the water again. "What ship were you on, James?"

"I don't know. I didn't care to find out." A muscled jumped in the chiselled jaw.

The lie was unconvincing, but Ya'akov let it pass. "And how did you come to be in the water?"

"Pirates. They attacked us... rammed the ship." The blue eyes became unfocused as James recalled the events. "They released the slaves, wanting to take us for themselves, but I went over the side." James swallowed some more water and wiped his mouth with a still shaking hand. "There were some planks in the water. Enough for me to hide among them. When they scuttled the ship, I used a couple to float on."

It was an impressive tale, the more so for being so understated. "How long were you in the water, James?"

"Two, maybe three days" For a moment he looked confused. "I don't remember much of it - only being alone, water all around me..." he shuddered reflexively and looked away, his cheeks flushed.

This was a man who did not like to appear weak in any way. Ya'akov had met his kind often enough. He patted the corded muscle of James' arm. "Few men would have survived such an ordeal."

"What will happen to me now?" The question was muttered in a defeated tone. He already knew the answer.

Ya'akov sighed regretfully. "You are a slave. You will be put to work in my master's service according to your abilities. If you have useful skills aside from fighting, tell me and I'll see what can be arranged for you."

James stirred at that. "What makes you think I'm a fighter?"

He almost laughed aloud. "Everything about you, James. What else would you be? Someday, perhaps, you will tell me how you came to be a galley slave."

* * *

Within two days, James had recovered enough that he was deemed fit to work. He'd expected to be sent to the fields, since he had offered no alternative options to Ya'akov. From gossip overheard and from talking to Ali, who had been caring for him, James knew that Ya'akov was the controller of the household and a decent, kind man. Still it chafed him to take orders from a heathen, even more so from a Jew, no matter how good a man he might be.

It came as a surprise, then, to be directed to a room full of books and scrolls, where Ya'akov was seated on the floor before a low table writing, his curly hair tumbled around his face and a smudge of ink on one side of his nose. The overseer looked up and smiled welcomingly. "Good. I need someone to help me with these books." He gestured to his left. "The ones on this side need to be moved to the storage room next door. And the ones on this side," indicating his right, "to be put on those shelves over there. Please be careful with them as some are quite old and fragile. Oh, and don't touch any of the scrolls."

James nodded his understanding, amused and slightly offended that he was to play the part of an errand boy. Still, it was better than manual labour in the fields, and he already felt a little weak. He made a start on the large pile of books on Ya'akov's left, and found they were surprisingly heavy. It would take most of the morning to move them all.

In fact, it took considerably longer - mainly because Ya'akov was constantly interrupting his own work to talk to James. The brevity of the responses he got seemed not to bother him in the slightest; he simply continued to make observations on whatever took his fancy - mostly subjects about which James knew little or nothing - and to ask questions that were not quite personal enough for James to take offence at. When a servant arrived with a platter of food and a pitcher of cool lemon and mint  _sharbat_ , Ya'akov beckoned James over to his table and invited him to share the meal.

The food was startling, used as he was to the slops and hard bread handed out in the galleys - or the plain meats and beer of his home - and James ate slowly, savouring the delicate blending of flavours with increasing delight. He opened his eyes reluctantly after one particularly savoury mouthful to see Ya'akov grinning at him in a companionable way.

"Reza, our cook, would definitely approve of you. He feels that he is not adequately appreciated." He shrugged, rolling his eyes. "Ramadan is a nightmare for him. Only one meal a day to prepare."

James felt a sudden, unreasonable stab of irritation at Ya'akov's words. This man would have hardly dared to speak to him if they had been in a decent, Christian country, yet here he could say whatever he pleased. "How does a Jew come to serve a Saracen? Didn't they throw your people out of al-Andalus?"

Ya'akov blinked at the abrupt tone, but answered mildly enough. "I am a convert to the path of Islam."

"From one heathen religion to another is no great step, I suppose." James remarked scornfully.

"James." Ya'akov laid a hand on his arm and James tensed instinctively. "You may say what you will to me, but be more circumspect around the other servants and do not be so disrespectful to our master, should you ever meet him."

He longed to pull his arm away and rise to his feet, to stand over the smaller man and swear that no heathen Saracen would ever be his master. Discretion won, but barely. He nodded stiff acknowledgement and saw Ya'akov's face relax into a relieved smile. Why the overseer should care about his welfare, James could not imagine and he fiercely repressed a rush of pleasure. What Ya'akov thought and felt was nothing to him.

"I'll continue with my work." He rose and began moving the heavy books again, studiously avoiding any glance in Ya'akov's direction. For his part, Ya'akov accepted his reticence and concentrated on his work for the rest of the afternoon, making only a few general observations that required no response.

* * *

Despite his best efforts, Ya'akov was unable to justify keeping James close by for more than a few days. The ajam was unable to read anything other than basic Latin, and Ya'akov had only a few books in that language. Reluctantly, he assigned James to work in the gardens, hoping that keeping the ajam close would allow him some measure of protection. He feared that James' outspoken ways would lead him into trouble.

It became a part of his routine to find James several times a day and speak to him, allowing the other slaves to see his interest. Some days the ajam seemed almost pleased to see him, but at other times, James would barely deign to meet his gaze and answered any questions with reluctance.

All too soon, Ya'akov's fears were realised. A little over a week after James began work in the gardens, he was summoned to his master's audience chamber to determine James' punishment. Khafid, the head gardener, had bypassed Ya'akov altogether and reported him to Rafiq for disobedience and, more worryingly, for insulting the faith.

"He does not understand," Ya'akov said somewhat desperately to his master.

Rafiq al-Harbi raised a sceptical eyebrow. "It is difficult to imagine how even an infidel would not know that calling Islam a 'filthy, pagan superstition' would be regarded by the faithful as an insult."

Ya'akov swiped a hand across his face while trying not to groan aloud. "I will... I will speak to him, my lord."

"Speak? He must be punished severely." Rafiq sighed. "Ya'akov, my son, I hope you have not given your heart to this man."

"No. No, I haven't, but... but there is something about him which... compels me. There is more to him than appears on the surface." His mind was racing, desperately searching for a way to protect James from his own folly.

"He  _will_  be punished, Ya'akov. Several of the slaves heard his remarks, as well as Khafid." Rafiq knew his overseer too well, it seemed. "If you cannot give the order, then I will have to find someone who will."

There was only one person he could be referring to, and Ya'akov stared at him in horror. "Naib? My lord, you cannot do this."

Rafiq spread his hands in a gesture of defeat. "He is my son's favourite, and when I am dead, he  _will_  replace you."

"He takes pleasure in hurting his slaves. Is this the kind of man you want in charge of your household?" Ya'akov's heart was thudding against his ribs.

"It is not." Rafiq sighed. "However, I cannot allow such a serious breach to go unpunished. What is your decision?"

There was no real alternative - he had a responsibility to his people that must outweigh his feelings for James. Ya'akov met his master's eyes squarely. "I will punish him."

* * *

No matter how determined a man might be, it is not possible to endure forty lashes in stoic silence. James was a very determined man, but he was a realist too, and he'd been in this situation before. For the first few blows, it was possible to grit his teeth and hold back the pain. Soon, his body began to anticipate the moment when the blood-stiffened leather would fall across his naked back, and to flinch involuntarily.

Counting each stroke helped a little, until the pain began to cloud his mind, and he could no longer remember how many blows had fallen and how many remained. Worse, the pauses between each lash seemed to grow longer - perhaps it was illusory, perhaps the executioner was tiring - and just as he began to think that, miraculously, it was over, another fiery slash of pain fell, again and again until, stripped of all self control, he screamed. And then the torture really began.

When they cut him down, James sobbed in relief. The worst was over and now all he had to do was allow his body to heal. It wouldn't be pleasant, but he could deal with it, could control it. He didn't resist as two of the sturdier house slaves half dragged, half carried him to the infirmary where Ali carefully smoothed an ointment over his back and gave him wine laced with poppy juice to drink. He slipped into merciful oblivion.

And woke again, his body on fire with excruciating pain, so intense he couldn't move, or even cry out for help; could hardly breathe. How long he endured that agony, James had no idea. This was Hell, pure and simple, unending torment, damnation.

Gradually, he became aware that something existed apart from the pain. What it was, he could not even begin to formulate in his mind, but he reached for it, desperate for any relief he could find. A sound reached him, indistinct at first, but slowly resolving into a voice and eventually into words.

"...follow my voice, James. I know you can hear me. Don't be afraid, just follow my voice." The words flowed through the pain, soothing and mellow. He felt a light, gentle touch on his cheek and that, too, eased him. He remembered how to breathe instead of gasp; how to move, and unclenched aching fingers from the crumpled sheets beneath him. He opened his eyes.

"James." Ya'akov leaned towards him, relief plain on his face, but the light was too intense to be borne and James closed his eyes with a weak moan.

"Hurts." His throat was raw and his mouth dry. He tried to swallow and choked instead.

"Here." His head was cradled at an awkward angle that allowed him to sip some water. "Is that better?"

He frowned, eyes still closed. "Too bright. Too loud."

"The candle?" Ya'akov's voice was pitched lower, and James heard the rustle of clothing. Even through his closed eyelids, he could tell that the light was dimmer. "James?"

This time, the light was bearable. Ya'akov was watching him, frowning. James knew there was something wrong - the overseer shouldn't be here - but couldn't remember why.

"James, this shouldn't be happening. I'm going to look at your back. Try to remain still." Ya'akov bent over him, and James felt the damp cloth lifted carefully away from his back. "The skin's barely broken. You shouldn't be suffering such pain."

"It's better now." The pain that had been overwhelming just a few minutes ago had faded to a dull throb - discomforting, but bearable. With the relief that came with the easing of that pain, James remembered why Ya'akov should not be there. He met the puzzled gaze with a condemnatory glare. "You _ordered_ this."

"Yes." Ya'akov's eyes didn't waver from his. There was compassion on his face, but he offered no excuse or explanation. "I'll put some more salve on your back. It may sting."

It did, of course, but the slow, careful stroking of Ya'akov's fingers lulled him to sleep all the same.

* * *

A more uncomfortable night, Ya'akov could not remember. He'd been woken in the dead of night by Ali, who'd feared for James' life, and had spent most of it by the side of his most troublesome charge. The strange and frankly terrifying seizure - if that was what it had been - did not occur again, although James slept restlessly, waking often, and in pain that only Ya'akov seemed able to ease.

Reluctantly, Ya'akov forbade Ali to administer more opium, since that was the only cause he could think of for James' reaction. His first thought, that the executioner had disobeyed his orders to go lightly with the lash, had quickly been proved to be incorrect. The reddened welts on James' back would certainly be painful, but not painful enough that a strong man should be so incapacitated.

Once he was satisfied that James was in no immediate danger Ya'akov settled down on a couple of large pillows and kept vigil over the injured man for the remainder of the night. When the call to prayer came in the morning, he slipped away for a brief nap before going to his office to fulfil his duties, leaving Ali with instructions to call him should anything untoward happen with his patient.

Mid morning, one of Ali's assistants appeared in his doorway to announce that the infidel was showing signs of another seizure and that Ali was unable to rouse him. Ya'akov hurried after him to the infirmary where he found James sprawled face down on his bed, naked, sweating heavily and obviously in extreme pain. Since it had worked before, Ya'akov sat on the floor at his side and began gently petting his hair and talking in a low, soothing tone.

This time, it took only a few minutes for James to respond. Last night it had been nearly an hour. The long, lean body relaxed slowly, and after a few moments, James opened his eyes wearily. "Thank you. For drawing me back."

Startled, Ya'akov stammered, "You know me? You recognise my voice?"

James moved his head slightly in assent. "It is all that I can distinguish, apart from the pain."

"And Ali's voice does not help you?"

"No." His voice dropped to the barest whisper, "nothing else exists. Only the pain, until I hear your voice."

"That is very strange." And not the only thing about this man that puzzled Ya'akov. He put those thoughts aside for the moment. "Have you ever experienced this before?"

James shook his head, closing his eyes with a faint sigh.

"I cannot stay here at all times." Ya'akov frowned, knowing that he could not abandon James to such torment. Life was going to be difficult for a while. "However I will be close by, and I'll come in as often as I can." He laid his hand on James' arm. "I will not leave you to suffer this alone."

* * *

As it happened, James only experienced one further seizure and, as painful as they were, the episodes did not slow his healing. Within a few days he was well enough to resume light duties in the infirmary under Ali's constant watch. Ya'akov managed to catch up on some sleep and immersed himself in his work again. The only problem that remained was what he would do with James once he was fully healed, since returning him to the gardens was inadvisable.

It was Ali who provided the solution, appearing in Ya'akov's doorway one afternoon to ask that James be assigned to the infirmary.

"Why?" asked Ya'akov bluntly. He liked Ali and found his quiet competence soothing; the last thing he wanted was for James to cause offence to this gentle, kindly man. "He can be... difficult."

"He has been helping me, and he is very good. He found several splinters in Aafia's hand that I had missed." Ali shrugged apologetically. "Perhaps my eyesight is not so good any more."

"Or perhaps, his is simply keener."

"That may be."

Ya'akov considered the idea for a moment. It would certainly be preferable to place James under the eye of someone who actually wanted him. "I will speak with him, and if I am satisfied, I will allow it."

When he could spare a moment, Ya'akov went to the infirmary and found James. They walked in silence to a small courtyard that Ya'akov had adopted as his own personal space - a place where nobody would disturb them.

"Please, James, sit." Ya'akov sank down onto a pile of cushions and waited until James had done likewise. "Ali has asked that you be allowed to work with him in the infirmary."

A flash of surprise crossed James' usually unresponsive face, and was swiftly replaced with wariness. He didn't speak.

"I am not sure if this is a good thing." He spoke carefully, watching for any reaction, but finding little to indicate what James was thinking. "Ali is a most valued servant. If you are assigned to his service, there must not be a repeat of your recent outburst." He watched as the colour rose in James' cheeks. "Indeed, wherever I choose to assign you, you  _must_  be more discreet. A less benevolent master than ours would have ordered your death for such an insult to the True Faith."

"And you would have followed his orders." James spoke heatedly, his eyes hard and angry.

Ya'akov forced himself to remain outwardly calm, but his heart skipped a beat and then began to thump furiously. "With the utmost reluctance, yes. Is that not the service I owe him? Would you not have done the same in the service of your former master?"

James stared over his head, his jaw muscle working. "I will not insult Ali. He is a good man."

Suddenly, it all became clear. "And Khafid is not? What did he do?" James flushed again and did not answer him. Ya'akov sighed. "I'm sorry. I thought he was only interested in young boys."

"Do you send him a supply of children too?" The blue eyes glared hotly at him.

"I keep them as far away from him as possible." Ya'akov said dryly. "You have a very low opinion of me, it seems."

The ajam's flush deepened. "No," he said quietly. "No, I do not."

He tried not to show the rush of pleasure James' words caused, but thought that perhaps he had not done a very good job of it. He smiled and ducked his head slightly. Then said softly, "I am glad."

* * *

For the first time since he had become a slave, James found himself actually enjoying his life. The household was quiet, and efficiently run, peaceful and soothing to his senses; and his work was satisfying. Having spent most of his life learning how to kill and injure he now, under Ali's patient tutelage, was learning how to help and to heal - and found, to his surprise, that he was good at it.

In a household as large as this, there was a constant stream of small injuries - burns from the kitchen, broken limbs and open wounds from the fields and fishermen. These were easily dealt with, and the patients remarkably grateful for his light, sure touch. Ali obviously approved of him and began to include him in some of the more difficult cases.

He saw Ya'akov frequently, as the overseer seemed to find many reasons to come to the infirmary and always paused to talk to him unless he was busy with one of his charges. He offered to lend James some of the medical books he had that were written in Latin, and even suggested that he teach James Greek so he could read the works of Hippocrates and Aristotle. Ali, when told of this, smiled and shook his head in amusement, then set aside an hour every day for James to take his lessons.

On rare occasions he would join Ya'akov in his little courtyard in the evening and they would talk or listen to musicians on the nights when Rafiq did not require their services. Most nights he would simply wander around the gardens enjoying the scents of the flowers and the sound of water flowing through marbled channels or splashing from the many fountains.

One such night, James found himself near Ya'akov's courtyard and although he usually waited for the overseer to invite him, decided on a whim to seek out the man who was rapidly becoming a friend. As he reached the entrance, James heard a familiar quiet laugh, and then another that was not Ya'akov's, but clearly male. He hesitated outside, wondering whether he should intrude, when another sound made it all too clear what was happening between the two men inside.

He froze, stunned by the revelation, although even as he thought that this could not be, his mind was reminding him of all the long, surreptitious glances that Ya'akov had cast his way. A lusty groan interrupted his thoughts, and then a low cry of pleasure. Laughter, soft and intimate, was followed by contented silence.

Without stopping to think James edged his way cautiously to the entry of the courtyard and peeked around the edge. It  _was_  Ya'akov, and another man unknown to James, their naked bodies twined together and gleaming with sweat. God's Balls, the little overseer was hairy, though. James' groin tightened even as his heart rejected the notion. It was simply that he had been celibate far too long. Perhaps he should ask Ali whether it would be permissible for him to bed one of the women. He backed away hurriedly and returned to his small room.

When Ya'akov came to the infirmary the next day, James could hardly bear to look at him. Thankfully, he did not comment on James' awkwardness and soon left. Nor did he ask any questions during the Greek lesson later in the day. For the next few days, he forbore to press James regarding the changes in his behaviour although their meetings became increasingly uncomfortable.

Finally, as James was leaving after a lesson, Ya'akov laid a hand gently on his arm. James could not repress an instinctive flinch, and Ya'akov's eyes became thoughtful.

"I assume you have learnt something of me which you do not care for." He released James' arm with a small, unhappy shrug. "You do not have to continue with these lessons if you do not wish to. I am sure that we can also manage to avoid each other most of the time."

" _No_. I do not want to stop the lessons." James hesitated, miserably confused, but sure that this unexpected friendship was too important to lose. "I just..." he turned his head away from Ya'akov, trying to hide his tangled emotions.

"Then perhaps we should stop for a brief period, until you feel ready to continue." He felt Ya'akov move away a little, then pause. "I am sorry, James. Your friendship is valuable to me and I would not wish anything to harm it. However I cannot change my nature."

Desperate to leave, James nodded abruptly. "I am sorry too."

* * *

Each day seemed more miserable than the last. James did not return to his lessons and could only be grateful that Ali forbore to question him about that, or the abrupt change in his mood. Out of respect for the old man, James did his best to curb his temper with the others and kept his own company as much as possible.

When he caught glimpses of Ya'akov, the other man seemed little changed, though they never came close. Even the faintest hint of his presence - the sound of his voice in the distance, the scent of the oil he rubbed on his skin - was enough to send James in the opposite direction, and there were always plenty of escape routes in this sprawling mansion.

It brought James no pleasure or even relief to avoid his friend. He wanted this separation to end, but could find no way to accomplish it. He could not bring himself to ignore what he now knew about Ya'akov and did not know how to truly accept it.

Spending a lot of time alone in his tiny room was no solution. James became convinced that he could hear people talking when there was nobody nearby. The scents of the infirmary seemed to cling to him, because there could be no other explanation for his being able to smell the herbal tinctures over such a distance. At night his sheets irritated his skin so much that he couldn't sleep, though he had never had a problem with them before. He took to wandering again, late at night to avoid meeting anyone, but it was not enough exercise to induce him to sleep soundly.

"Perhaps I should ask to be assigned to the fields," he suggested morosely.

Ali patted him on the shoulder. "Perhaps you should follow your heart."

"What does that mean?" He scowled, all too ready to take offence these days.

"You miss your friend. No?" Ali raised his eyebrows. "Do what your heart tells you is needed to put things right between you."

James shook his head stubbornly. "It's not so easy."

"Did I say it was easy?" Another pat, on the arm this time. "What the heart desires, the body will demand to have. Yet, you can deny the body, but not the heart."

"No, not the heart." James smiled faintly. "You are a wise man, Ali."

That night when his thoughts would not allow him to sleep, James's wanderings brought him to Ya'akov's courtyard, where he had not been since that fateful evening. To his surprise, there was light spilling out of the entrance, and he went in, thinking only that the servants had forgotten to snuff the candles.

He was unprepared to see Ya'akov sitting on a pile of cushions, eyes closed and face upturned to heaven. Perhaps he made a sound, for Ya'akov's eyes opened and he looked at James without expression.

"I... I'm sorry..." he took a step back, then stopped. For, suddenly, he could see the open longing in Ya'akov's eyes. His breath caught in his throat and everything seemed clearer, more in focus than he had ever experienced.

There was the sweet, heady scent of orange and lemon trees in blossom, carried on a warm, soft breeze that caressed his cheek and ruffled the dark curls of Ya'akov's head. The sound of the fountains in the surrounding gardens and the whisper of leaves moving in the wind soothed his ears. And in the centre of it all was this man who he loved, his face gilded by the candlelight, dressed only in a simple tunic of white linen with his feet bare and the sleeves pushed back to reveal slender wrists and forearms that contrasted sharply with his broad, strong hands.

For a moment longer James resisted, then he strode forward and sank to his knees by Ya'akov's side. He brushed his fingertips down Ya'akov's cheek, from the smooth skin of his cheekbone to the roughly bristled jaw, then over soft, full lips. Then he removed his fingers and replaced them with his own lips.

Ya'akov made a small, strangled sound, then pressed against his mouth with a kind of restrained desperation. James could feel it, taste it on his lips and then his tongue, and he responded instinctively. For long moments they were joined only at their mouths, learning to know each other with such intimacy that it all but stopped the breath in his throat. Then James pulled away and dragged his tunic over his head and cast it aside.

" _James_..." Ya'akov caught him by the shoulders and fell backwards onto the cushions, pulling James over on top of him. His hands became busy, stroking over James' back and arms and chest. "...beautiful... so beautiful..."

" _You_  are beautiful," he whispered, and kissed Ya'akov again and again. "I want you so much... dear  _God_ , how I want you."

"Then you can have me." Ya'akov smiled teasingly. "Anything you want, James.  _Anything_."

James moaned softly, his cock leaping at the thoughts those words inspired. He pressed his body closer and felt a matching hardness against his thigh with only pleasure in his heart. He buried his face into the curve of Ya'akov's throat, breathing deeply of his scent before tasting the salty tang of his sweat.

His hand slipped under the thin linen robe, stroking down over the fine dark hairs that grew across Ya'akov's shoulder to reach the coarser hair on his chest. Strong hands clasped his head, guiding it downwards, and James sighed against the heated skin. He tugged urgently at the laces holding the front of Ya'akov's robe closed and then pushed the cloth away, baring half his chest.

"Yes.  _Yes_... oh,  _there_..." and Ya'akov groaned helplessly as James' lips closed around his nipple.

He teased at the tight little peak with his lips and tongue and teeth, easily determining what pleased his vocal lover. Their bodies ground together, seeking greater sensation yet, barely hampered by the thin cloth that separated them. James glanced down and saw that the linen, dampened by both their juices, was clinging to Ya'akov's cock, and almost transparent.

Suddenly, he could bear to wait no longer to see Ya'akov's nakedness. He scrabbled with the tunic, tangled now with Ya'akov's legs and dragged it up to his hips. Ya'akov shuddered and stilled his movements with an effort that could be seen, waiting to know how James would react.

James smiled reassuringly at him and reached out to touch the bare, swollen cockhead. His fingers slipped in the juices, brushing lightly over the slick surface, then down the long, velvet-skinned shaft to the root. Ya'akov was breathing in short, laboured gasps, his hips twitching as he restrained the urge to thrust. When James lifted dampened fingers to his tongue to taste, Ya'akov groaned and closed his eyes.

It was a little strange, but not an unpleasant flavour, and James shifted his position, leaning down to taste again from the source. Again, he found the taste and the texture pleasing, and began to explore in earnest, to Ya'akov's obvious satisfaction. Soon he felt emboldened enough to take the whole upper half of Ya'akov's cock into his mouth and, guided by his lover's hands, to pleasure him until he pulled James' head away.

Ya'akov dragged James up his body, showing more strength than James had ever expected, and kissed him soundly. "I want you to take me, James. Now."

He gasped at the raw desire that surged through him and saw that same desire in Ya'akov's eyes.

Knowing they would need something to ease his entry, James searched among the detritus of what had obviously been a late supper and found a small jar of oil, strongly scented with rosemary. It would certainly serve the purpose he required.

When he turned back, Ya'akov was watching him hungrily. Helplessly, James drank in the sight of his lover, sprawled among the cushions, his tunic hitched high on his belly, his cock lifting flushed and leaking above the dark thatch of hair. Higher, his nipple gleamed wetly from James' mouth. With just a hint of a smile, Ya'akov fingered his cock negligently, smugly amused by the effect his actions had on James.

With shaking hands, he spread the oil over his cock, taking care to slide back his foreskin and coat his cockhead too. Ya'akov watched with a gleam of curiosity underlying his desire and James somehow knew there would be questions, and if he was extremely lucky, a close examination, later.

"Tell me what you need." He offered the oil to Ya'akov, who simply shook his head and guided James' fingers down between his legs.

"There. Just loosen me a little. It won't take much." He bit his lower lip as James' finger slid into him and began to press down against the intrusion. "More. Quickly."

They were both trembling by the time Ya'akov nodded decisively. "Now.  _Now_."

He slid between Ya'akov's parted legs and positioned his cock against Ya'akov's opening. It only took a little pressure to pass the tight ring of muscle and then his cock slid easily into his lover's body. Ya'akov wrapped his legs around James' hips and pushed up sharply, taking James' cock deeper into his body.

For the first few thrusts, James could only close his eyes and concentrate on how it felt to be so tightly enclosed, to feel Ya'akov moving beneath and around him, and try to control his raging desire. He was only dimly aware of Ya'akov's voice, and his hands rubbing soothingly up and down his back. Eventually, he was able to pull back from the brink and open his eyes.

Ya'akov smiled up at him. "It's a little overwhelming, isn't it?"

James nodded, not sure he could speak at this point. He moved his hips experimentally, and found that he could thrust gently without giving way to the urge to climax. Slowly, he deepened the thrusts, seeking to give Ya'akov the same pleasure that he felt himself. Awkwardness gave way to greater assurance and he began to experiment, varying the speed and rhythm of the thrusts, some deeper, some shorter, angling his hips and finding out what Ya'akov liked.

He leaned down and sealed his mouth against Ya'akov's lips, accepting his lover's tongue into his mouth with pleasure. Before long they were moving together as though they shared but one mind between their two bodies. The rapid beat of Ya'akov's cock against his belly faltered suddenly. He felt the slender body arch up against him and then the hot gush of fluid as Ya'akov groaned brokenly.

The grip on his cock pulsed in a flurry of contractions, almost destroying his self-control. He had only enough to ride out the wave of pleasure, then began to thrust again, driving into Ya'akov's unresisting body, his eyes drinking in the dazed look of satisfaction on his lover's face. Then, all too soon, he was falling, helpless before the demands of his body.

* * *

Beside him, James was drowsing, a large, solid presence that made Ya'akov feel safe and secure. Although he was tired, had not been sleeping well lately, he had never wanted sleep less than he did right now. If he slept, then there was always the danger that he might wake and find it had all been a dream.

Carefully, he rolled onto his side and watched James sleep. He was utterly relaxed, his long legs sprawled across the scattered cushions, his head buried in the curve of his arm. Ya'akov longed to reach out and run his fingers along the smooth muscles of his shoulder and arm, but didn't want to wake him. Although it was late there were still several hours before the first of the servants would be rousing.

It wasn't long, however, before James' eyes opened. He didn't move, but lay completely motionless, watching Ya'akov for several minutes before pushing himself up onto his elbows and smiling gravely down at him.

He reached up to touch the handsome face. "Regrets, James?"

"No." James leaned down to kiss him, and the kiss was as sweet and full of longing as their first had been. "Only that I waited so long."

"Then you should not wait a moment more." Ya'akov teased, running his hand down James' side to his hip.

James laughed softly. "I don't intend to." Matching actions to words, he knelt beside Ya'akov and tugged at his tunic, peeling it up and over his head before tossing it away. Then he began to nuzzle Ya'akov's throat and caress his body.

For someone so clearly inexperienced with men, James had no lack of confidence in his ability to please, and justifiably so. Ya'akov surrendered himself to the pleasure of being explored in minute and loving detail. So awash with sensation was he it took a moment for him to realise that James' explorations had abruptly ceased.

He opened his eyes to see James staring down at him, a frown marring his face. Then he realised where James was touching him - the circle of ridged flesh beneath his arm where he bore the slave brand.

"Why didn't you tell me?" James' eyes were dark, and his mouth set in an angry line, though his tone was gentle.

Ya'akov smiled calmly up at him. "It doesn't matter. It was a long time ago."

But James shook his head slightly, and moved aside. After a moment he lay down beside Ya'akov and took his hand. "Tell me."

"It happened during the Expulsion. I was eight, I think, and got separated from my parents. I was sold as a slave, and branded. Rafiq bought me after that; saved me from the brothels." As James' hand tightened over his own, Ya'akov lifted both hands to his lips and kissed James' knuckles. "I have no complaints."

"You're a slave. How can you want this?" James demanded. "We could... we could leave here. Escape. Be free."

"And go where, James?" Ya'akov shook his head. "Here, because I converted I have some measure of acceptance. Where, in your world, would I find even that much? And how would your people view this?" he indicated their naked bodies with a brief gesture.

"They would kill us." James whispered.

"Yes." Ya'akov leaned forward to kiss him gently. "If I wanted freedom, I could have it here. I have enough money to buy my freedom, and if I asked, Rafiq would free me out of the kindness he has for me."

"Then why don't you? Why remain a slave?"

Ya'akov sighed. "I am not a good Muslim. Truthfully... I don't have faith in God, and my conversion was for convenience's sake, not out of conviction. While I live here, Rafiq protects me from too many questions. If I were free... I do not think I would be very safe."

"And when Rafiq dies?"

He shrugged. "That is many years away, I hope. Who knows what may change in the meantime?"

James shook his head. "It seems little to build a life upon."

"Perhaps. But it is enough, for now. Many have less than this." He smiled at James hopefully. "What of you? Can you build a life on such scraps?"

"With you?" James kissed him slowly. "I can do that."

 

 

=�,-e`Z� 01� -size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px;">"Then you can have me." Ya'akov smiled teasingly. "Anything you want, James.  _Anything_."

 

James moaned softly, his cock leaping at the thoughts those words inspired. He pressed his body closer and felt a matching hardness against his thigh with only pleasure in his heart. He buried his face into the curve of Ya'akov's throat, breathing deeply of his scent before tasting the salty tang of his sweat.

His hand slipped under the thin linen robe, stroking down over the fine dark hairs that grew across Ya'akov's shoulder to reach the coarser hair on his chest. Strong hands clasped his head, guiding it downwards, and James sighed against the heated skin. He tugged urgently at the laces holding the front of Ya'akov's robe closed and then pushed the cloth away, baring half his chest.

"Yes.  _Yes_... oh,  _there_..." and Ya'akov groaned helplessly as James' lips closed around his nipple.

He teased at the tight little peak with his lips and tongue and teeth, easily determining what pleased his vocal lover. Their bodies ground together, seeking greater sensation yet, barely hampered by the thin cloth that separated them. James glanced down and saw that the linen, dampened by both their juices, was clinging to Ya'akov's cock, and almost transparent.

Suddenly, he could bear to wait no longer to see Ya'akov's nakedness. He scrabbled with the tunic, tangled now with Ya'akov's legs and dragged it up to his hips. Ya'akov shuddered and stilled his movements with an effort that could be seen, waiting to know how James would react.

James smiled reassuringly at him and reached out to touch the bare, swollen cockhead. His fingers slipped in the juices, brushing lightly over the slick surface, then down the long, velvet-skinned shaft to the root. Ya'akov was breathing in short, laboured gasps, his hips twitching as he restrained the urge to thrust. When James lifted dampened fingers to his tongue to taste, Ya'akov groaned and closed his eyes.

It was a little strange, but not an unpleasant flavour, and James shifted his position, leaning down to taste again from the source. Again, he found the taste and the texture pleasing, and began to explore in earnest, to Ya'akov's obvious satisfaction. Soon he felt emboldened enough to take the whole upper half of Ya'akov's cock into his mouth and, guided by his lover's hands, to pleasure him until he pulled James' head away.

Ya'akov dragged James up his body, showing more strength than James had ever expected, and kissed him soundly. "I want you to take me, James. Now."

He gasped at the raw desire that surged through him and saw that same desire in Ya'akov's eyes.

Knowing they would need something to ease his entry, James searched among the detritus of what had obviously been a late supper and found a small jar of oil, strongly scented with rosemary. It would certainly serve the purpose he required.

When he turned back, Ya'akov was watching him hungrily. Helplessly, James drank in the sight of his lover, sprawled among the cushions, his tunic hitched high on his belly, his cock lifting flushed and leaking above the dark thatch of hair. Higher, his nipple gleamed wetly from James' mouth. With just a hint of a smile, Ya'akov fingered his cock negligently, smugly amused by the effect his actions had on James.

With shaking hands, he spread the oil over his cock, taking care to slide back his foreskin and coat his cockhead too. Ya'akov watched with a gleam of curiosity underlying his desire and James somehow knew there would be questions, and if he was extremely lucky, a close examination, later.

"Tell me what you need." He offered the oil to Ya'akov, who simply shook his head and guided James' fingers down between his legs.

"There. Just loosen me a little. It won't take much." He bit his lower lip as James' finger slid into him and began to press down against the intrusion. "More. Quickly."

They were both trembling by the time Ya'akov nodded decisively. "Now.  _Now_."

He slid between Ya'akov's parted legs and positioned his cock against Ya'akov's opening. It only took a little pressure to pass the tight ring of muscle and then his cock slid easily into his lover's body. Ya'akov wrapped his legs around James' hips and pushed up sharply, taking James' cock deeper into his body.

For the first few thrusts, James could only close his eyes and concentrate on how it felt to be so tightly enclosed, to feel Ya'akov moving beneath and around him, and try to control his raging desire. He was only dimly aware of Ya'akov's voice, and his hands rubbing soothingly up and down his back. Eventually, he was able to pull back from the brink and open his eyes.

Ya'akov smiled up at him. "It's a little overwhelming, isn't it?"

James nodded, not sure he could speak at this point. He moved his hips experimentally, and found that he could thrust gently without giving way to the urge to climax. Slowly, he deepened the thrusts, seeking to give Ya'akov the same pleasure that he felt himself. Awkwardness gave way to greater assurance and he began to experiment, varying the speed and rhythm of the thrusts, some deeper, some shorter, angling his hips and finding out what Ya'akov liked.

He leaned down and sealed his mouth against Ya'akov's lips, accepting his lover's tongue into his mouth with pleasure. Before long they were moving together as though they shared but one mind between their two bodies. The rapid beat of Ya'akov's cock against his belly faltered suddenly. He felt the slender body arch up against him and then the hot gush of fluid as Ya'akov groaned brokenly.

The grip on his cock pulsed in a flurry of contractions, almost destroying his self-control. He had only enough to ride out the wave of pleasure, then began to thrust again, driving into Ya'akov's unresisting body, his eyes drinking in the dazed look of satisfaction on his lover's face. Then, all too soon, he was falling, helpless before the demands of his body.

* * *

Beside him, James was drowsing, a large, solid presence that made Ya'akov feel safe and secure. Although he was tired, had not been sleeping well lately, he had never wanted sleep less than he did right now. If he slept, then there was always the danger that he might wake and find it had all been a dream.

Carefully, he rolled onto his side and watched James sleep. He was utterly relaxed, his long legs sprawled across the scattered cushions, his head buried in the curve of his arm. Ya'akov longed to reach out and run his fingers along the smooth muscles of his shoulder and arm, but didn't want to wake him. Although it was late there were still several hours before the first of the servants would be rousing.

It wasn't long, however, before James' eyes opened. He didn't move, but lay completely motionless, watching Ya'akov for several minutes before pushing himself up onto his elbows and smiling gravely down at him.

He reached up to touch the handsome face. "Regrets, James?"

"No." James leaned down to kiss him, and the kiss was as sweet and full of longing as their first had been. "Only that I waited so long."

"Then you should not wait a moment more." Ya'akov teased, running his hand down James' side to his hip.

James laughed softly. "I don't intend to." Matching actions to words, he knelt beside Ya'akov and tugged at his tunic, peeling it up and over his head before tossing it away. Then he began to nuzzle Ya'akov's throat and caress his body.

For someone so clearly inexperienced with men, James had no lack of confidence in his ability to please, and justifiably so. Ya'akov surrendered himself to the pleasure of being explored in minute and loving detail. So awash with sensation was he it took a moment for him to realise that James' explorations had abruptly ceased.

He opened his eyes to see James staring down at him, a frown marring his face. Then he realised where James was touching him - the circle of ridged flesh beneath his arm where he bore the slave brand.

"Why didn't you tell me?" James' eyes were dark, and his mouth set in an angry line, though his tone was gentle.

Ya'akov smiled calmly up at him. "It doesn't matter. It was a long time ago."

But James shook his head slightly, and moved aside. After a moment he lay down beside Ya'akov and took his hand. "Tell me."

"It happened during the Expulsion. I was eight, I think, and got separated from my parents. I was sold as a slave, and branded. Rafiq bought me after that; saved me from the brothels." As James' hand tightened over his own, Ya'akov lifted both hands to his lips and kissed James' knuckles. "I have no complaints."

"You're a slave. How can you want this?" James demanded. "We could... we could leave here. Escape. Be free."

"And go where, James?" Ya'akov shook his head. "Here, because I converted I have some measure of acceptance. Where, in your world, would I find even that much? And how would your people view this?" he indicated their naked bodies with a brief gesture.

"They would kill us." James whispered.

"Yes." Ya'akov leaned forward to kiss him gently. "If I wanted freedom, I could have it here. I have enough money to buy my freedom, and if I asked, Rafiq would free me out of the kindness he has for me."

"Then why don't you? Why remain a slave?"

Ya'akov sighed. "I am not a good Muslim. Truthfully... I don't have faith in God, and my conversion was for convenience's sake, not out of conviction. While I live here, Rafiq protects me from too many questions. If I were free... I do not think I would be very safe."

"And when Rafiq dies?"

He shrugged. "That is many years away, I hope. Who knows what may change in the meantime?"

James shook his head. "It seems little to build a life upon."

"Perhaps. But it is enough, for now. Many have less than this." He smiled at James hopefully. "What of you? Can you build a life on such scraps?"

"With you?" James kissed him slowly. "I can do that."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Historical Notes
> 
> Al-Andalus is the name given to Islamic occupied Spain. For many years Muslims lived alongside Christians and Jews in reasonable harmony. However from the mid 11th Century onwards conditions worsened as more fundamentalist rulers took control. In 1066 the first great expulsion of Jews was ordered.
> 
> Ajam has different meanings in different times and places. The earliest meaning was simply "stranger", however in al-Andalus it was used to denote speakers of the Romance languages - those descended from Latin.
> 
> Islamic scholars collected many of the writings of Ancient Greek philosophers, mathematicians and scientists at a time when Christian leaders were trying to suppress any knowledge that did not conform to the teachings of the church.


End file.
